


Conquered

by disgruntled_owl



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Gothic, Vaginal Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_owl/pseuds/disgruntled_owl
Summary: Once Dracula leaves for London, his women lay claim to his castle and to the victim inside. Now fully in the Brides' clutches, Jonathan Harker must choose whether to resist or to surrender.





	Conquered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calliopes_pen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliopes_pen/gifts).



This ruined castle swallows me whole, and the laughter of my captors echoes through its gullet. The Count is gone, and they have claimed his domain. They throw open the doors to his long-deserted bedchamber, and beckon me to a bed blanketed with dust. Candlelight summons shadows that writhe on shields, swords, the faces of kings. 

The women tear through what is left of my garments. Their fingertips linger on my collarbone and the lip of my navel. They stretch my arms and legs to the four posts of the bed, as if to quarter me. Silk—hair, fabric, skin—sweeps over my bare body as they settle upon me. Their hands and tongues immerse me in pleasure, paralyzing me with it. They have learned over countless nights where to touch to make me yield. 

Eyes and fangs flash in the swirl of bodies above me. Their perfume suffuses the room, tinged with my sweat. They seek their teeth into me, and my blood ebbs away in rivulets. The doors to the chamber hang open. No man or even beast will come through them to rescue me now. I wonder if this will be the night they finish me. 

The women detect my racing pulse, the delicate twitches of prey about to flee. The dark ones pin my wrists. The fair-haired one lays against me. Her breasts, belly, and thighs form soft waves of flesh that lap at my own. My heart pounds, forcing blood to every extremity. They notice.

“Our master has abandoned us,” the fair girl purrs as she straddles me, her skirts pooling on my chest. I sense a new door, and a grotesque hunger draws me toward it. She lowers herself down, never breaking my gaze. Warm, wet lips kiss the head of my cock, then recede. I gasp at the chill in the air between us. The others pull back to watch, bearing blood-slick teeth. 

“We will need a new king.” 

The fair girl sinks down again, taking more of me inside this time. She rolls her hips in a spiral, compelling me to trace the channel within her. She rises like a moon over a battlefield, beaming down on the corpses of the conquered. A tidal force draws me toward her. I try to sit up, but the dark ones hold me fast and she eludes me. I thrust on instinct into the emptiness, and all three of them laugh.

“Would you like that, man?” she asks sweetly. “Shall we make you our king?”

Ancient Draculs watch us from the wall, their motionless eyes inscrutable. I shut my eyes and try to remember the person I was at the crossroads in the forest, before the Count’s carriage arrived, before I set foot inside this cursed place. A free Englishman. Fearless, if naive. Pure, with no knowledge of how deep I might sink into helplessness and depravity.

Those lips brush my cock once more. She rocks back and forth, hovering just above me, tempting and denying me with each stroke. I moan. Her sisters stir. They bite down into my forearms and rake their nails over my chest, grazing my nipples with their palms. My head swims in revulsion; my body aches with want. The space between the fair girl and me throbs with magnetic charge.

“You do not answer me, Jonathan,” she teases, a vein of cruelty in her voice. “Would you be master over us?” 

She perches on top of me, but will not let me beyond the threshold of her body. She knows I will conjure the sensations for myself--the honeyed texture, the disarming warmth, the distant pulse of the blood deep within her. Her eyes catch the candlelight and gleam. She can remain here for years, centuries, waiting for my surrender. Desire coils around me, growing tighter with my every heartbeat.

I am a slave. I am a toy. I will die here, if not in body, then in soul. 

“Yes,” I beg, my breath ragged. 

She dips down, plunging her teeth into my neck as she envelopes me. Pain pierces me, ecstasy floods me, and I cry out. My body goes slack. Her sisters laugh—icicles shattering on stone. The metallic scent of blood and the sweet musk in her hair usher me into delirium as the last of me drains away.


End file.
